


No True Illusion

by Skeren



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeren/pseuds/Skeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seph knew getting his wants was just an illusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No True Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 2007.

At one point, all he had actually wanted was to have something that was utterly and irrevocably his. Then he grew up and realized that of all things that were out there, hopes were not one of those things that would ever be tempered or given freely. They were not wishes to be granted, and they were not kind when crushed.

It didn't take at all long to realize that a whimsical hope was a set up for a failure, a fall, for the denial of it as quickly as it was realized. So he made sure never to bring any of his wants, dreams, or emotions to any kind of attention where they might be seen, noted, and catalogued. He may have been a foolish thing for a time, but he had outgrown that even before he had gone to Wutai.

Things had been very different there. 

There had been very few expectations placed on him, comparatively. His wants ruled the lives of the men under his command and, in turn, those wants had to be dictated by what strategy would best unfold to keep the largest number of people alive, as well as to deal with the enemy as quickly and deftly as possible. 

In this, those soldiers and SOLDIERs had never been his. They had merely been given into his care for a time before being passed along to another place or life that he could hardly fathom at all at the time. He still had trouble doing so now, even though his life was currently as normal as it would ever be.

It had all been very simple, black and white, do and do not, for the longest time. Then he met Zack, and things had suddenly gotten very confusing.

Those first times he'd seen the man had been during battle, in passing, and possibly other occasions, all of which he had barely noted even in passing. He had been just another SOLDIER to be eaten up and wasted in the name of this war to subdue a people who should have realized by this point that fighting was a very pointless, and thankless, thing to do. It was strategically unsound for them to have persisted so long as they had, but he could not argue that they held ground well, considering the timeframe the war had spanned.

They simply hadn't planned well enough.

If he laid it out, he could have pointed out exact points amid the battles and skirmishes where the other people could have taken an advantage and tightened their hold on their corner of the world. Of course, he never did, and he kept his observations quiet. He had enough speculation on him, and this was another place, another time, than then. It needed no documentation beyond historical purpose, if it ever even saw a purpose at all.

He had never really expected his notes to be collected instead of orders, nor to be commented on by the violet-eyed young first class that had come with the last of the SOLDIER that had joined the battle. It was a battle that finally had an end in sight at that, so he could admit perhaps he had been a bit careless. 

Perhaps it had been a deliberate, if subconscious effort. 

Foolish, in either case, and the bright smile of almost understanding that had been flashed at him as they were returned in exchange for the proper papers was startling at the very least. Then the man, barely so, had commented that he'd like to talk to him about his theories sometime and had been gone from his sight again with no further word for weeks.

There were other points of significance, of course, such as the man telling his name, Zack, then patiently asking for his name in turn though he'd known it already, because he insisted it was the right way to have an introduction. There was a point when he had found himself playing a game he had previously had no awareness of. Other small, seemingly pointless moments that had somehow led to here.

When the war had finally closed, it seemed as though he had gained a shadow that was in many ways, perhaps only to the exclusion of appearance, more brilliantly bright than he was. Loyal beyond it being merely a fault, full of laughter, life, and that ever so pointless hope that he could improve things, the man had apparently set his sights on him. 

It took a while before he realized the man was trying to be a friend. It took longer before he realized the interest extended beyond that. 

That had been… just a week before actually.

He had watched, had gauged the way the man interacted with others against the way he interacted with him. They had not been equal. Even more unequal than he might have considered while taking into account the odd brush that Zack seemed to have painted him with. So he had tested the theory.

He had kissed the man the evening prior, just to see, and the reaction had been first stunned, then hungry. He had not, contrary to a popular theory of it being so, been celibate for the entirety of his life. He recognized desire, and there were times he chose to act in response to it. 

Because of that, he now had Zack in his bed, asleep, trusting, unaware of his heavy thoughts. It was only a matter of time before this was lost and the man was no longer his. He knew that, the pattern of his life giving no other alternative, but for now, he owned this.

Reaching out, he ran his fingers down along the muscles of the other man's back, following the curve of his spine. The man had given himself to him freely, had done a great many things to ensure he was aware that whatever he had to give was clear and his. They had all been small, subtle in a way he was sure most people never expected Zack to be.

Flattening his palm against the skin, he slid his palm across his backside, brushing the covers out of the way and drawing a sound of protest from the smaller figure. A moment later he had a curious look leveled at him from lidded, sleepy eyes. "What'r you doin?"

"Thinking." The drowsy tone was limited to Zack, and considering how long Sephiroth had been awake, it was no wonder that his own voice was already to his normal modicum of speech. He started to wander his hand back up, lingering over a few of the mostly faded bite bruises on the way.

"With your hand Seph. What'r you doin with your _hand_?" Shifting a moment to rub his face into the covers, the next look leveled over was a bit more alert, and certainly more interested in some kind of answer.

"Touching." The exasperated noise that earned him was amusing, and he just stroked his fingers between the man's shoulder blades. 

"Seeeph, that's not what I mea- Ah forget it. C'mere, eh?" This time, the movements were more helpful, the dark haired man squirming around until he was on his back and could return the touches, grinning as he carefully dragged the silver haired man into a lazy morning kiss.

He didn't protest the handling, returning the kiss with pleasure and just continuing to touch. The man was his, for now at least.

He would hold onto that illusion for as long as it lasted, and perhaps, eventually, he would gain something that wasn't illusion at all.


End file.
